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Saturday, November 10, 2012

I of the Storm - Chapter 2: Gavin

Happy Saturday, everyone!

I had a pretty productive day, although I did take some breaks to clean house and play Words With Friends and Bejeweled Blitz ... addicting!

I made a decision this morning that I'd start doing author interviews on here, and within an hour of posting the request on Twitter, I got about three willing participants that I will be spotlighting and introducing you to very soon. I'm all about promoting talent in the book world and doing what I can to boost my fellow authors. So, stay tuned for that!

Oh, and I'm also trying to increase my following so that I can be in a better position to do giveaways and contests for you, so please share this blog link and help me get there! If you like a post, by all means, share it. That's what those cute little buttons are for, right? :)

Now on to the main event for tonight's post ... Chapter 2 of my book. Enjoy!

It was a blistering disappointment
that Gavin wasn’t as thrilled about being a parent as I was. I got a cruel
taste of his resentment one evening at the dinner table. We were talking about
the baby, and I simply suggested that we could try for a son later on. I
thought the prospect of a son to carry on his name would spark some enthusiasm
in him about parenthood. He stood up and whacked me on the head with a copy of
my Fem Life magazine. Funny thing. When
I bought it at the grocery store the day before, I never pictured it as a
weapon.

“You think I have a money tree out
back, woman?” he yelled. “You waste money on shit like this, yet you don’t take
any of the advice that’s in it. Do you even read this crap? When’re you ever gonna look like this?” Gavin pointed at the gorgeous
model on the cover of the magazine and chuckled as he got up and tossed it in
the trash. “You haven’t even popped out that puppy yet, and you’re already
thinking about making another one? You must enjoy being fat.”

That poor ,old couch was shown no
mercy, considering the amount of hours it had been forced to support my dead
weight while I brooded over my past, present and prospective future. I suppose
most pregnant women fantasize about how they’ll get back in shape after the
baby comes or if their baby will grow up to be president someday. I just wondered
if Gavin would still hit me after the baby was born. I could not stand the
thought of him hurting our child or of what worse things he was capable.

Up to this stage, I’d learned one
important life lesson. Time … it heals all. But in order to heal, you must
first be wounded.

I had one more hour to lie there in
peace and daydream before Gavin got home to vent his weekend work stress on me.
A mechanic’s assistant, he hated who he had become. Honestly, so did I, mostly
because I got the brunt of his misery.

In high school, he wanted to be an
architect. Gavin was a very talented artist and loved to draw. Art class was
always his highest grade. As for me, I still had a fascination with astronomy
and meteorology, but that passion dramatically dwindled after the accident when
the fascination became entangled with fear. Career-wise, my true aspiration was
to be a journalist, based on my love for reading, writing, and telling stories. After
marriage, Gavin saw college as just another bill to pay, and I had instead become
an Olympic swimmer in the daily pool of misery that was my life. Gavin would
get angry anytime I mentioned school. He accused me of wanting to go just to
make him look bad and to gaze at other men. Every time he shot down the idea of
me going to school, I’d remember his infamous words:

“I can’t wait, Kira. Let’s get
married as soon as we graduate. I love you so much. I swear I’ll work three
jobs to make sure your dreams come true. You’re still gonna be a journalist
just like you always wanted. I promise you that. I’ll make sure you don’t have
to sacrifice your goals to be with me. So, please, baby. Be with me. Forever.”

Life pretty much ended when I met Gavin
at a school dance during our junior year of high school. I was volunteering as
the punch bowl monitor, and he came by to quench his thirst, only it wasn’t the
punch he was after. With a sexy smile and some clever lines, he became my first
boyfriend. I was claimed at first glance, he always said arrogantly. We started
dating a few days after the dance and shortly after that, he stopped mentioning
college and career goals. Instead, his focus became me and my every move.

He was a bit pushy, but I was blindly
flattered by the excessive doting. In the third week of our relationship, he
forbade me from talking to any guys at school, declaring it as disrespectful to
him and our relationship. I subsequently ceased all hallway small talk, study
groups and even simple greetings. It wasn’t too difficult since I didn’t have many
friends to begin with. I learned to walk with my head down, and I memorized every
sidewalk crack and dead bug on the walkways of Clear River High School. I
really believed Gavin was the best I could do since I had never been pursued by
any guy before him. As a result of my below-average self-esteem, I held on to
him like a squirrel with the last nut on Earth.

My parents never liked Gavin. Mom
was more vocal about her disapproval. She and I had countless arguments about
Gavin, among other things.

“That boy just has a strange way
about him,” mom would say. “I don’t like the way he carries himself, and he’s
outright disrespectful, Kira. He doesn’t even greet us half the time when he
comes to pick you up, like he’s entitled to you or something … like he’s coming
to pick up a package from the post office.”

Regardless of how unhappy Gavin made
me sometimes, a part of me stayed with him just to spite my mom for coming down
so hard on me all the time. My grades were never high enough. I didn’t clean my
room well enough. I didn’t read enough. She wasn’t a fan of the future
journalist idea either. Mom fancied the idea of me becoming a meteorologist,
which I thought was selfish of her since she knew I was forever traumatized by
my near-death impact with a lightning bolt. She had the audacity to tell me I
was no match for the writing competition out there and that I’d probably starve
trying to make it as a journalist. I had no competition for Gavin, so I used
her logic in that regard and chose what was guaranteed to me – Mr. Wrong. No
competition there.

Less than a year into our
relationship, I earned my first set of bruises as a result of my buoyant
attitude toward the future. My senior year was thrilling to me. I was in hot
pursuit of scholarship opportunities and job experience as graduation drew
nearer, and I was a bit less preoccupied with my love story.

I took journalism and became a
reporter on the school newspaper staff as well as a member of the yearbook
committee. Just weeks into the first semester, Gavin got privy to my class
activities, which I’d tried my best to conceal. I knew exactly what would
happen. I bowed to his commands in the beginning, but this year was different.
I was a senior with a future to mold, and I damn sure couldn’t do it by keeping
my eyes on the pavement instead of the prize.

The moment of truth came one day
after he saw me wave goodbye to a jock I’d just interviewed for a sports story.
Gavin charged up to me like a raging bull and snatched me by the arm in the
school courtyard.

“You forgot to mention you’d be
goin’ around school flirting with guys all day in this class!” Gavin
complained.

“Gavin! It’s not flirting ... and it’s not about talkin’ to guys! I’ll be talking to everyone.
I’m one of the school reporters, so I have to interview people sometimes for
stories and photos for the paper. It’s not a big deal. I love this stuff,
Gavin. It’s fascinating to me. You know I want to be a journalist. I thought
you were okay with that.”

“Wait … It’s not a big deal? Is
that what you said? You’re out there flaunting yourself all over school, not
even thinking how that makes me look!
And that’s not a big deal?”

“It’s not even like that, Gavin!
You make it sound like something dirty! It’s a class, and it’s my assignment!
What is your problem!”

“What’s my problem!? My problem is that I have a girlfriend who doesn’t
give a shit how I feel. And what if you meet some other guy and he starts
tryin’ stuff on you, huh? I’m a guy, Kira! I know how the male mind works!
You’re lucky I’m not one of those type ‘a guys and got respect for you. But I
guess I’m supposed to just sit around clueless, waiting for something like that
to bite me in the ass since it’s ‘not a
big deal’ to you!”

“Gavin! Stop talking like that! I
love you. I tell you that every day. Every. Single. Day. Why would I ever do
what you’re suggesting. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I don’t think you’re taking this
relationship serious enough, Kira. I’m thinking twice about being with you, if
that’s how you are. I’m starting to realize … you’re just like everyone else. I
thought you were different. Thought you were on my level. But if you’re willing
to lose me for some stupid class, then I consider myself lost. I’m outa here!”
He released his grip from my arm and turned to storm off.

“What? Gavin … Gavin, wait!” At
this point I was talking to the back of his head, because he stopped to hear me
out but stubbornly refused to turn around. “It’s a class, Gavin. It’s all for
school, for a grade. For my future as a journalist! This is the stuff I want to
do professionally. I can’t tell you that enough. It’s important to me. You want
me to consider your feelings, and I get that. But what about mine?”

“Kira, this is high school!” He
turned around briskly to scold me and grabbed my arm again. “Nothing you do
here is anything close to what you’ll be doing professionally! That’s what
college is for. You still have that to look forward to, and so do I. What if I
enrolled in some CPR training class or something here and started doing
mouth-to-mouth on your buddies as practice for the class. How would you like that?”

“Oh, my God, Gavin, I’m not touching
anybody! It’s journalism! And if you can’t handle this in high school, then how will you deal with it when I
do the same thing in college? And then as a job. Plus, there is no such class
you can take here, mister,” I mocked the silliness of his logic and tried to
mollify the situation with humor and a soft, playful tap on his chin.

“OH! You laughin’ at me now? You
think this shit is funny, and I’m being serious about us? You know what? I ain’t gonna stand here and get laughed at. Forget
you, bitch!”

He gave my arm one last squeeze and
flung it, causing me to stumble backward a few steps. Then he stormed off and
left me stunned at what had just happened and at how fast I went from “baby” to
“bitch.” I got a glimpse of my best friend, Celia, who was watching the action
from across the courtyard. She shook her head and frowned at me before walking
off.

Celia Vargas. My closest gal pal
since the 1st grade. We became friends in about ten seconds. I was
sitting alone under a huge oak tree on the playground reading a book about
clouds. She approached me and said, “Hey, my name is Celia. I like clouds too.
Wanna be friends?” With a huge smile, I said, “Okay! Sure.” She took a seat on
the ground next to me, and so began a lifelong friendship. Simple as that.

I called her right after school to
explain the scene she had witnessed. No matter how much I tried to justify Gavin’s
behavior, which I felt compelled to do, Celia was completely outraged and demanded
that I stay away from him. She referred to him as “the psycho” from that day
forward. A while after our phone conversation, Celia came over and surprised me
with strawberry cupcakes she had made to cheer me up. She apologized for being
harsh with me on the phone about the psycho. She believed in tough love,
something I appreciated when I was too faint of heart to do the right thing.
She even gave me her orange, sequined tank top that I was crazy about. The
entire front side of it sparkled, and I was spellbound every time she wore it. We
spent the afternoon pigging out on cupcakes, listening to music and talking
about all the guys she had crushes on.

After Celia left, I did some
homework and spent the evening locked in my room. My mind was a raceway of
thoughts as I weighed the pros and cons of what had happened between me and
Gavin. Mom was relentlessly on my case, talking outside my door and demanding
to know why I didn’t want any dinner. I kept telling her I was on my period and
had horrible cramps. That age-old excuse is a female birthright, and I used it into
oblivion. My mom was convinced I needed to see a doctor about all this pain and
loss of appetite I usually got around menstruation time. Little did she know, I
never had a cramp in my life.

I finally forced myself to get up
and get ready for bed. I yawned and pulled off my T-shirt and jeans to change
into my pajamas but decided to model the orange tank top Celia had given me first.
It always looked so good on Celia’s curvy chest. I hoped for the same result even
though I wasn’t as curvy. My reflection stunned me but not because the tank top
didn’t look as good on me as it did on Celia. My upper left arm had a
purplish-brown mark. And it didn’t hurt until I noticed it, as if it was validated
by my acknowledgement. I twisted my waist and tried to get a good look at the
back of my arm. Sure enough, I saw about three of those same marks. This must
have happened when Gavin grabbed my arm during his temper tantrum. I couldn’t
take my eyes off the bruises.

I felt a small sense of relief that
Gavin had broken up with me. It was a fresh new start or a “blank canvas,” as
Grandma Edan always said. For my 6th birthday, she gave me a blank
artist’s canvas for my room. She advised me to look at the white canvas anytime
I felt hopeless, and imagine all its possibilities. She said life was just like
this canvas. I gave the canvas a quick glance, but the bruises won my undivided
attention. I stood in front of the mirror in a trance wondering how such a
thing could happen to me. He had to have clutched me awfully tight to bruise my
brown skin so badly. As I lay in bed, I kept poking the bruises as if to continuously
remind myself of what he had done to me.

Gavin and I didn’t speak for about
one month. In teenager time, that was about a year. I hardly noticed his
presence at school, because I truly enjoyed reuniting with society and spending
time with friends, old and new–both male and female. I caught him staring at me
in the cafeteria one Friday. Then, sure enough, he called me that same evening.
I expected it because of the desperation I had noticed in his eyes.

“Hello? Persad residence.”

“Hello, Kira? It’s Gavin. Can we
talk?

“Gavin? (sigh)It’s been a month.
I didn’t expect to hear from you again,” I lied. “What is there to talk about
anyway?”

“I still love you, Kira. I think
about you every second of every day. I never stopped. Just wanted to give you
some space. I was hoping the time would pass and you would miss me as much as I
miss you. I want you back. I know I overreacted that day. I know you would
never play around on me. I knew it all along. I just love you so much, and I
get irate when I think of somebody else getting intimate with you.”

“Gavin. I don’t want to have this
conversation, okay. It just goes in circles. And every time I try to talk, you
interrupt me and get angry. I can’t even talk to you or joke around with you. ”

“Baby, listen, I just want to see
you. I want to look in those beautiful, brown eyes and talk to you. I miss
playing with your long hair and touching that caramel skin. You’re the most beautiful
girl I’ve ever seen, Kira. My Indian princess. Baby, please? Just give me one
chance. I just want to talk. Please?”

I didn’t really fall for the sweet
talk, but it felt so nice to be complimented.

“Last time I talked to you, I got some nasty bruises on my arm, Gavin!”

“What? What are you talkin’ about,
Kira? What bruises?

“When you flipped out in the
courtyard that day. You, number one, called me a bitch, which is incredibly
hard to forget! Number two, you snatched my arm and bruised it up, which I
discovered that night. And, number three, you dumped me and walked off. So tell
me why you think I’d ever want to talk to you again!”

“Oh, my God! Kira, baby, I’m so
sorry. I had no idea I bruised your arm. I would never do anything like that on
purpose. I guess I didn’t realize my own strength. I was frustrated and wasn’t
thinking straight. I had a really bad day. I was pissed because I failed my
algebra test, and I guess I was just taking it out on you. I was wrong for
that. God, baby, I’m so sorry. I have to see you, Kira. Please meet me. You
won’t regret it. I promise.”

His pleading sounded so pitiful. I convinced
myself that he didn’t bruise me on purpose. He must have been really frustrated
over the algebra test. I knew he’d been studying nonstop for nearly a week. I missed
his handsome face … when it wasn’t angry, that is. He had a whole month to miss
me. Maybe he realized his stupidity and wanted to make amends. Maybe the second
time’s a charm. I did kind of miss having a boyfriend, and no one else had made
a move.

I agreed to meet him at Deepwater
Hill. It was a hilly, out-of-the-way park area that was more beautiful at night
and very naturesque. Hardly anyone went there, but it was known as an ideal make-out
spot. A news report about a recent coyote sighting there had pretty much scared
everyone from wandering through the area, but the claim was unconfirmed. Parks
& Wildlife officials sent out notices that the area was deemed safe, but I
was still wary. Nature had not been kind to me. And what if the “wild animal”
was a boyfriend?

I preferably stayed away from such
places as a result of my nature phobia, but Gavin insisted to meet there and claimed
he had a surprise for me. Gavin said his dad often mentioned Deepwater Hill as
an old hot spot for sports and hanging out when he was a boy. He told Gavin the
place was a lot better kept in those days and that he used to take Gavin’s mom
there to make out. Knowing this repulsed me, but I went along to keep the
peace.

I pulled up to the gravelly parking
area and cringed at the thought of having to touch grass. He’d gotten there
first and was standing against his car with his arms folded, watching me
anxiously while I parked. As I got out of my car, I had secretly hoped he
wasn’t planning to take me on a romantic picnic out in the hills, but that was
indeed a big part of his plan.

“God, you look so beautiful,” he
said as he stared at me up and down. It made me uncomfortable, especially when
his eyes paused at my crotch area. I didn’t know exactly why I kept conforming,
but I did.

“Thanks. You look nice, too,” I lied.
He looked hideous and unkempt, and he had huge bags under his eyes as though he
hadn’t slept the whole month we were apart.

“Come here. I want to hug you.” He wrapped
his arms around me and squeezed me passionately, rubbing the back of my head
and moaning while he ran his fingers all around in my hair. Then he whispered
in my ear. “I have something for you, baby.”

He reached into his car and pulled
out a huge bouquet of flowers. I saw hibiscus, roses, daffodils, tulips and
baby’s breath.

“The hibiscus and roses are from my
mom’s garden. I bought the rest to make it exotic, just like you.”

“Aww. I love it. Thank you, Gavin!”
I said sincerely. I had a weakness for romance. That night, he acted like the
guy of my dreams. He said all the right things and made all the best promises.
I was excited about the new and improved Gavin.

He held my face in his hands and stared
into my eyes without blinking. Then he leaned forward and planted a soft, wet
kiss on my lips. Without words, we were back together.

He put a hibiscus in my hair and led
me up to the top of a small hill where we stargazed, shared thoughts and
consummated our relationship. I lost my virginity underneath the stars. It
seemed perfect enough, but I still had a nagging feeling that I was doing the
wrong thing. I gave a deaf ear to the alarm of intuition, and I kept moving onward,
following Gavin’s lead. His charming antics hypnotized me, and I even forgot
about my fear of the outdoors for those few hours. I hadn’t even given a single
thought to what my friends would say about me getting back together with Gavin
after a whole month of promising them I wouldn’t.

Graduation was coming up, and I
couldn’t be more ecstatic about college. Gavin kept suggesting that we should get
married right after high school and attend college together later. The way he
romanticized the idea, it actually sounded amazing. He officially proposed to
me on bended knee at the mall next to a big water fountain. Onlookers watched
adoringly and cheered after I excitedly accepted. Then, we tossed some coins in
the fountain water and each made a wish. I wished for a happy marriage. I also
wished to know what Gavin wished for. Sadly, neither of my wishes ever came
true.

Gavin convinced me that we’d enjoy
the merriment of married life for just a year, save money, then tackle college
together. I fell for it completely. I postponed my college plans and turned
them into wedding plans instead.

I lost my interest in making
friends after I got back with Gavin. The same old relationship rules applied,
and I became the obedient girlfriend once again. The friends I was allowed to
keep utterly despised Gavin, especially Celia. She threatened to stop speaking
to me if I married him. I was thankful it was just an empty threat, although she
was livid and never stopped ranting about what a mistake I was making. I wished
I hadn’t told her about the bruises, but she was the only person I had to
confide in, the only person whose opinion I cherished. Her tough love helped me
on so many occasions but this time, her advice was rejected by a heedless heart.

A couple months before graduation, Gavin
planned a dinner and movie date to celebrate our engagement and my eighteenth
birthday. I was always apprehensive about my birthdays, because most of them had
been plagued by mishaps and disappointments. I was born six minutes after
midnight on April Fools’ Day, 1982. Oh, the irony. I always asked mom why she
couldn’t have pushed a little harder to have me seven minutes earlier. The
“foolish” birthday was seemingly a curse.

On my 1st birthday, dad had
dropped me, and I got a nasty bruise on my forehead. Mom never let him forget
about that one. Birthday number 2, I had chicken pox. Number 3, I fell out of a
sixth-story window while visiting relatives at an apartment in Brooklyn, New
York. Dad was able to reach out and grab my ankle in time to yank me back in
and save my life. They were so happy I was alive, they didn’t bother to scold
me for trying to reach out of the window to touch a baby bird I had seen on the
window sill. Birthday 4 was spent in the emergency room with a high fever and
vomiting. On my 5th birthday, a bird pooped on my head as I picked
flowers out in the yard. On birthday number 8, my dad’s car was stolen with all
my birthday gifts hidden in the trunk. On my 10th birthday, I fell
in a huge mud puddle outside the toy store after a rainy birthday shopping
spree. I still remember the taste of mud in my mouth. My 11th birthday
was my life-changing meet-and-greet with the lightning bolt, followed by
Grandma Edan’s death.

The 14th birthday was
also as sorrowful, because my Aunt Mona passed away from unknown causes. At 34
years old, she snuggled on the sofa for a nap and never woke up. Aunt Mona was
very dear to me. She was that one cool aunt that every girl wished they had. She
lived in St. Croix where my family is from, and I was supposed to fly out there
to spend my birthday week with her and my cousins. Instead, my 1 p.m. April
Fools’ Day flight to St. Croix ended up being a ticket to her funeral.

On my sweet 16, I fell down the
stairs at the city library and broke my arm. Celia couldn’t resist making fun
of the fact that I chose to spend my birthday at the library, not to mention
that I got hurt at the library of all places. To me, there was no better place.
I considered it my enchanted forest. All that knowledge on the pages of dead
trees was purely euphoric.

Almost every birthday followed suit
with some type of calamity, but I was lucky enough to enjoy a few disaster-free
ones in between.

Despite my anxiety, I still dolled
up for my 18th birthday bash with Gavin. I wanted so badly to
impress him. I wore a new pair of jeans, dark denim and much tighter than my
usual style. I put on a pink, plaid blouse that was cut low enough to expose my
cloud and lightning bolt scar, and it had buttons that looked like diamonds. The
top layer of my long, curly tresses was held back with a matching hair clip
that sparkled with pink glitter. Some silver slippers my mom had bought me
adorned my feet, and I painted my nails in lavender, my favorite color.

My naive, teenage heart fluttered
when I heard the doorbell. I dashed down the stairs and swung open the door
with a grin only to see my boyfriend scowl at me, kind of the way people react
when they smell sewage or rotting garbage. Gavin’s discontent was a snake bite,
and the venom didn’t take long to weaken me.

“Damn, Kira. You look like a whore.
You want men to gawk at you? Your pants are skin tight; I can see … everything, and I can see straight down
your blouse, too. And that scar, ugh! You might as well be naked! Look, just go
change. I’ll wait in the car. And don’t take forever. You know I hate waiting,”
he said as he frowned and walked away.

My perfectly buffed make-up was
ruined after my eyes turned into waterfalls. I ran upstairs submissively to
change. Mom saw me frantic and came to ask what was wrong. I didn’t answer her,
so she started to abrasively lecture me about Gavin. “Kira! Why do you allow that
boy to treat you this way? He is, by all means …” My dad interrupted with a
more tranquil approach.

“Janetta, let me handle this one,
eh,” dad said to mom as he entered my room. He always called her Jane but used
her full name when he meant business.

“Okay then, Mr. Persad! You think
you can do better, so be my guest,” mom fired back, also using a name variation.
She normally called him Nico. Janetta and Nicholas Persad of St. Croix, the Caribbean
king and queen of sarcasm jousting. It was actually a fun sport to watch, once
it wasn’t directed at me.

“Kira. Just do your crazy, old dad
a favor, eh. Always remember, there’s a lot of fish in the sea but just as many
sharks! Keep your options open, and remember what you’re worth. Don’t just
settle for a shark just because it’s the first to swim by. I know at your age
you think you know everything but, baby girl, take it from the old dinosaur
who’s been around a long time. Life has so much to offer, so much you don’t
know about yet. Don’t put your happiness in the hands of any guy, eh. Be
careful. Have fun, and please be home by curfew, otherwise your mother will
drive me mad with her complaining, and I’ll run away from home.” Dad winked and
gave me a hug. I wiped my tears, half-smiled at his corny humor and went downstairs
to begin the next six years of my life.

At Gavin’s command, my conformity
and my parents’ disapproval, the proverbial knot was tied three months after
high school graduation in an old, musty wedding chapel in Texas City, Texas. Gavin’s
grandparents chose the venue. They were avid church goers there and extreme
supporters of wedlock, having been married since they were 16. We could have
gotten married in a junkyard for all I cared. I was overjoyed about being a
bride and couldn’t wait to wear the gorgeous, white wedding gown Celia
hesitantly helped me pick out. It was a very plain, satiny design,
short-sleeved with a V-neck cut in the back and front that exposed many of my
scars. I didn’t mind, because it made me feel like Grandma Edan was there. The gown’s
trail was long with heavy beading and lace that glittered as it followed me
down the aisle. My beautiful veil elegantly shimmered over my carefully made-up
face. I tried not to overdo it on the makeup in fear of Gavin calling me a
w hore on our wedding day. I didn’t want to chance it by provoking him.

My mom pigheadedly did not attend the
ceremony but sponsored the gown, my jewelry and some shiny, white, high-heeled
shoes. Dad covered the decorations and my veil, and Gavin’s mom made my bouquet
from her own flower garden. The only guests in attendance from my side were my
dad who walked me down the aisle and looked melancholy as though I was dying of
an incurable disease and Celia who loathed Gavin and didn’t smile once. A few random
church visitors came in and graciously joined the ceremony. They added some
genuine cheer to the atmosphere with handshakes, hugs and congratulations,
completely oblivious to the discontent of my real guests.

This inglorious event happened six
years ago this August. I didn’t ever allow myself to look forward to any
celebrations because a year into married life, Gavin lost his appetite for
romance. Life took a turn down a dismal road. I expected bad times, but this was
far outside the borders of my imagination. Six years of infrequent good times,
broken promises, broken dishes, broken bones, black eyes, frozen dinners and
lonely nights. The closest I’d come to being a journalist was answering phones and
filing charts at a local dental office for two dollars above minimum wage. Not exactly
the bargain I was promised.

Since Gavin didn’t like me leaving
the house unless it was necessary, I had nothing better to do than stroll down
memory lane every chance I got. He kept track of every move I made, which was a
one-way street since I wasn’t permitted to do the same to him. He even counted
how many minutes per week I spent visiting my parents and insisted to accompany
me most of the time. He was paranoid about what we discussed in his absence.

I married Gavin because I believed his
promises and that things would improve as we matured together and shared a life.
Six years later, there I was, sprawled off in pain on a dingy, hand-me-down couch
on my birthday, carrying a child for a man who hardly had a nice word to say to
me, spending all my time retracing the footprints of my life.

* * *

Once again, thank you for taking the time to read me! Look out for Chapter 3 on tomorrow evening's post! Hope you're having a fabulous weekend.

3 comments:

Hey there! I got your message on Book Blogs so I came to follow you and realized I already did! So here's the link to mine if you haven't stopped by or followed yet: MaMa's Book Corner I hope you are having yourself a great weekend! :)

Hi, Leigh Ann! I followed your blog yesterday, and it is a cute one! I like the background color. :) Thanks so much for following mine. I'm trying real hard to increase my membership so I can be awesome like all these other blogs I see that do tons of contests and giveaways!

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About me, me, me

My name is Neesha, and I’m a writer and editor residing in the Houston, Texas, area. As a life-long word enthusiast (I’ll spare you the “I’ve wanted to be a writer since childhood” story), it shouldn’t surprise you that most everything I do relates to the written word. It’s my 8-5, my side gig as a freelancer, and my hobby. I fit mostly into the fields of journalism, business and technical writing, and public affairs, but I’m also a wanna-be fiction writer. I have many a byline in the non-fiction world, and I’m determined to score some in Fictionland. So, yes, I’m part of the starving artist revolution, taking on the grueling yet exhilarating world of publishing, collecting rejection letters, sparks of hope here and there, the arduous waits, exploring agents’ sites for golden tickets, continuously learning and improving, and penning those fabulous story ideas every time they flood my mind. You never know which one will be the winner, right? I’m also a Trekkie, a foodie, a mom, and an avid reader of science fiction. I consider every day a good day, as long as it includes all of the above and a healthy dose of Netflix.